


Ms and Mrs Murray

by FlorenceVassy



Category: Scott & Bailey, The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Crossover, F/F, do I already have other fics to finish? yes, have I been thinking about this for a long time? yes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28276242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlorenceVassy/pseuds/FlorenceVassy
Summary: Gill Murray divorced her husband Dave two years ago. Her sister-in-law Nicola comes to visit and Gill manages to convince her that it might be time to do the same.
Relationships: Gill Murray/Nicola Murray, James Murray/Nicola Murray
Comments: 11
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

"Mum, Auntie Gill’s on the telly again.”

Nicola looked up from her phone, and sure enough, there was Gill, giving another statement on behalf of the Greater Manchester Police, appealing for information about their latest murder case.

Gill had always had something about her—some air of elegance, something Nicola had never quite been able to imitate—ever since she had first met her in the late 1980s. Nicola had been with James for a couple of years by that point, and was visiting the Murray household for a weekend. Dave was bringing Gill home for the first time, and Nicola didn’t envy her a bit—the Murray parents were not easily impressed—and Gill with her unapologetically Manc accent and habit of not backing down when challenged made her an easy target.

What Nicola remembered about that weekend most of all was the way she had looked in that little green dress, the one that had made Hazel’s eyes nearly drop out of her thin, disapproving face, and the smile she had given Nicola when she took her hand to say hello (or “hiya” as Gill had said it).

“She’s always on there, saying something or other,” James grumbled. “And look, she’s not your auntie anymore, so stop calling her that.”

Nicola clicked out of her daze, pulled from her memory of 1988 and Gill in that thin green dress. She registered James’ comment and frowned.

“James, Sammy’s their cousin. Gill is still their aunt, whether you or your pig brother like it or not,” she snapped, glaring at him from across the room.

Since Gill and Dave had divorced, after Gill had discovered he was cheating on her with a 26 year old bobby on the beat (whom Gill and Nicola had taken to calling “The Whore” in their private conversations), James had firmly taken his brother’s side in the whole affair, and in Nicola’s estimation, was also a little too friendly with The Whore. Nicola had called him out multiple times since it first came out that Dave had gotten another, younger woman pregnant, but James was far too loyal to his scumbag brother to see reason.

“Mum, can we go and see Auntie Gill soon?” Ella asked, eyes fixed on the TV.

Ella had always idolised her Auntie Gill, in a way that girls of a certain age do idolise their female family members. She didn’t know the ins and outs of her and Uncle Dave’s divorce, of course, but it was Auntie Gill who she was concerned about visiting and keeping in touch with, much to the annoyance of James.

“Of course we can”, Nicola replied. “If she’s free, of course. You know what she’s like, you’ve got to book her months in advance.”

They would have to stop the weekend, which James wouldn’t do, if they were going up to see Gill. But Nicola had no inclination to drop in on Dave and The Whore, and she would rather do the long drive with the kids by herself than listen to His Lordship moaning the entire time. So she decided to text Gill before he had the time to object.

“I don’t know why Ella _worships_ that woman so much”, James said as they got into bed a couple of hours later.

Nicola rolled her eyes, smoothing her nightie down over her hips and tying her hair up loosely with a scrunchie. “Because she’s her aunt, James? And she’s successful, and exciting, and she takes a bloody lick of interest in Ella, in a way your brother never did? I swear, Dave was never bothered with the kids ’til we had Ben…”

“Say what you like about Dave,” James said, his voice garbled by the buzz of his electric toothbrush, “least he’s not got a stick up his arse unlike Lady Muck herself.”

Nicola pulled the covers up to her chin, resisting the urge to roll her eyes for the second time in less than a minute.

“If you’re going to visit her, I’m not stopping there,” he continued, spitting into the sink, and Nicola knew he wouldn’t bother to rinse the toothpaste off the basin properly.

“What, in the house they shared for twenty years until your brother stuck his cock into a woman barely out of senior school?” Nicola said, deadpan. “Yeah, don’t bother. I’ll take Ella myself. I’m sure you can keep the others occupied for a weekend,” Nicola continued before James could object and before he could get any ideas in his head about some sort of childfree weekend he could dedicate to a bender with the boys.

James shook his head as he sank into the bed next to his wife. “God, you sound just like her sometimes. If you don’t stop with the wisecracks and sarcasm you’ll end up just like Gill,” he muttered, turning away from her and clicking the light off.

“Wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Nicola thought, turning onto her side away from her husband, turning her lamp off and submerging them in darkness.

* * *

(20:18) Just seen you on the telly. Ella still brags about her famous Auntie Gill every time you’re on. xx

(21:31) Oh bless. I bloody hate doing those things. Glad I’ve got Ella to cheer me on. How you all doing?

(21:42) We’re all alright. Katie got her mocks back, A* in English, D in Science(!) Ella would love to see you if you have a free weekend xx

(23:07) Sorry cock, only just got out of work. Would absolutely love that. Why don’t you all come up next month? Maybe weekend of 5th?

(23:15) 5th works great. It might just be me and Ella so don’t worry about going all out. Xx

(00:03) Works perfect for me. I could do without seeing the bastard’s brother (sorry, know he’s your husband and all but he’s Bastard By Association) give us a ring soon xxx G

* * *

Gill was sat in her office at 2PM, thankful for five minutes of peace. The GMP had identified a potential serial killer and as such the case was both of high interest to the media and the public, and of high time pressure as to when he would next strike. She had cringed the entire afternoon before having to give her statement to the press yesterday, but had been cheered by the text she had received from her sister-in-law—well, ex sister-in-law—that evening about her niece who had become something of her number 1 fan over the years, despite everything that had gone on between her and Dave.

She didn’t see the Murray side as much as she would’ve liked, never had, really—James and his sister had both moved south for uni, it was only really Dave and his parents who had stuck around up here. She’d never been much impressed with Stephanie, anyway, and she knew she herself had never been enthralled by Gill, since the moment her thick Manc accent had made her laugh out loud back on that first weekend at the Murray household.

That weekend had been destined for disaster ever since Gill had stepped into their family’s rather respectable garden party in that silly little sage-coloured slip dress. Stephanie couldn’t contain the little smile that was spreading across her face at the sight of her, and Dave looked positively mortified as she stepped out of the sliding glass doors into the garden. He had scowled at her the entire evening, actually—he was pissed off as it was because she had just that week passed her sergeants’ exam on the first try and it had taken him two tries—and, as she thought about it, the only one who had really been nice to her and made her feel welcome that weekend had been Nicola.

She could still remember her, her wild mane of thick, dark hair that reminded her so much of Kate Bush, and that fussy little pussycat blouse and dowdy skirt she had obviously put on to avoid the critical eyes of Hazel and Eric Murray. She wore fairly thick-rimmed glasses in those days—they suited her, but definitely made her look a little young—which she swapped for contact lenses and a much chicer, more refined wardrobe sometime around the early 90s.

Gill smiled, remembering the times the two of them had shared before she had Sammy and Nicola had Katie. She and Dave used to finish work on a Friday and drive down to London for a weekend with her and James. They would start drinking as soon as they got through the door of James and Nicola’s flat—they lived in Camden Town back then, before it was trendy and all the hipsters moved in and ruined it—and would head to Ministry of Sound just in time for last entry.

They had had some _ridiculous_ times, the four of them, Gill reflected. She and Dave had had to turn a blind eye to the illegal substances James and Nicola would sometimes consume. It was mainly James, she remembered—Nicola would just go along with it—she was besotted with the lad, would have run the length of the country there and back in just her underwear if he’d asked her to (and providing she was coked enough).

The two of them would often share a bed after a night out—they’d leave the boys to it, talking politics on the sofa into the early hours—while the pair of them would collapse in Nicola’s bed, eating cheesy chips (Gill would lament the lack of gravy in the south), talking copious amounts of shit.

She remembered how Nicola looked in those days, all hips and curves spilling out of a designer dress. She had just started work as a solicitor back then, with Dentons. Gill remembered thinking how glamorous she was, in comparison to the rather neeky, under-confident girl she had known just a couple of years before. Whenever she stopped, she’d often sling Gill a nightie to borrow from her wardrobe, and Gill remembered how envious she was of Nicola’s collection: she seemed to have one in every colour, lace and silk, padded and pushup or soft and sultry. She never asked for them back either, would sometimes slip one silently into Gill’s suitcase.

They couldn’t do that sort of thing anymore, of course. After Gill got pregnant, Nicola didn’t take too long to catch up, and their wild nights out became limited to once or twice a year, and as Nicola continued to have more children (Gill wondered if it would ever stop…), they became less frequent still. But she looked back on those memories with such fondness, and even after she had divorced Dave, still held Nicola close to her heart, and intended to text and call her a lot more in her head than she managed to in reality.

So when she was in her office, enjoying her five minutes of peace, she didn’t hesitate to answer when her phone rang and Nicola’s picture flashed up.

“Alright, Nic?” Gill smiled into the phone.

“Hello Gill, how are you?” Nicola replied, and Gill smiled still, thinking about how formal Nicola could be with someone she had known for so many years, someone whose hair she had held back and back she had stroked over the toilet bowl an uncountable number of times.

“Oh you know, serial killer on our hands obsessed with murdering prostitutes and other vulnerable women and all we have on him is that he _may_ have connections up in Newcastle, and our Sammy apparently wants to move out to live with his dad and The Whore, but y’know, other than that, all fine and dandy, really,” Gill replied, leaning back in her chair, lips pursing as she thought about what the hell she was gonna do about her son.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I wonder who’s put that idea into his head?” Nicola said sarcastically. “I mean Dave, not the serial killer, obviously, that would be—”

“I know, Nic,” Gill replied, stopping her short before her sister-in-law went on some inevitable nervous tangent. “Anyway. You and El coming up to visit me or what?”

“Yes!” Nicola said somewhat breathlessly, clearly glad for Gill pulling her off the subject of serial killers. “Yes. We’d love to. We could come up on the 5th. James won’t come, obviously…”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” Gill scoffed suddenly, before realising what she had said. “Sorry Nic,” she said, “that just seems to be my immediate reaction to Murray men these days. Apart from our Sammy, of course.”

“Oh no,” Nicola replied, “don’t apologise. He’s been driving me mental, recently. I’ve had to stay late at work with the promotion and it was alright when he did it but as soon as I have to ‘it’s not fair on the kids’. More like you don’t want to do any actual parenting, you lazy fucker…sorry, you don’t need to hear that…”

“No, I do!” Gill cried, leaning forward in her chair. “You know I’m always here to listen, Nic, even if I don’t always ring back immediately or reply for a few days. Look, when you come up next month, one evening I can get someone to watch Sammy and Ella—or they don’t even need watching, really, Sammy’s 16 now—and me and you can go out and have a proper evening together to catch up, like we used to. How’s that sound?”

Gill bit her lip, anxious for Nicola’s response, even though she knew the other woman could hardly say no to her.

“That…sounds great,” Nicola said, and Gill could hear her smiling through the phone. “It’ll be so great to see you, and Sammy. Ella will be ecstatic. She looks up to you so much, y’know…”

“She’s lovely, and tell her I can’t wait to see her, either,” Gill said. “Listen—I’ve gotta go, Nic, I’ve got one of my DCs glaring at me through me blinds. I’ll see you on the 5th, alright?”

“Okay Gill. I’d better dash too, I’ve got a parliamentary debate in half an hour and I’ve got an angry Scotsman on the other side of the glass,” Nicola said, laughing slightly.

“Alright, Nic, see you soon, then. Bye now,” Gill said, putting the phone down and ushering Rachel in with a wave of her hand.

As Rachel began to talk about the rather brilliant connection she had made between the killer and a man they had flagged on the system for committing previous assaults in the Manchester and Newcastle areas, Gill’s mind strayed elsewhere. She thought about the weekend Nicola had come up shortly after she split with Dave, a couple of years ago now.

She had driven up on her own in the Citroen, much to James’ annoyance as he had a rugby game planned with the boys, or something equally stupid, and they had ate and drank and cried and told each other stupid stories that the other had managed to forget.

At one point, in the early hours, they had collapsed in Gill’s bed, like they had done all those years ago in Nicola’s Camden flat. They lay there, looking at each other, and Gill had reached for her arm, in some sort of drunken gesture of…sisterhood? Of mutual understanding of the shitness of being married to a Murray? Of sexual interest? She still wasn’t quite sure herself, and neglected to think about it.

Thankfully, Nicola was too fucked up from the copious amounts of sangria they had consumed to even notice, her eyes fluttering as she fell asleep. Gill withdrew her hand, cursing herself and wondering what the hell she was thinking, rolling over onto her other side.

“Boss? What do you think? Does that sound in any way plausible?”

Gill looked up and saw Rachel standing over her, that look on her face that said she had discovered a very good link.

“What? Yeah, fine, Rachel, go ahead,” Gill said, willing the younger woman out of her office so she could clear the massive fucking migraine that had suddenly come on.

“Alright, thanks, boss,” Rachel replied, frowning slightly as she left Gill’s office.

Gill began to rub at her temples, before shaking her head and beginning to pore over the files laid out in front of her, immediately forgetting what had just been so lost in thought about as she began to realise just how fucked she would be if she couldn’t determine a solid lead on this case within the next 24 hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this has been sitting in my brain for a couple of months since I first clocked that Gill and Nicola have the same married surname. it's absolute crack but I really love both Gill and Nicola in F/F pairings for Obvious Reasons. so to the small crossover audience that exists for this, please enjoy


	2. 2

“Cup of tea, boss?”

Gill looked up from the papers on her desk, glasses balanced on the end of her nose. She ushered Janet in from the door, grateful for the cuppa, but also for the interruption. She’d been looking at the notes Rachel had typed up for hours, trying to draw some sort of crucial link between the recent murders in Manchester and some historic murders and assaults in Newcastle.

“Found anything?” Janet asked, her tone carefully curated to avoid provoking an attack from her DCI if she was, as Janet suspected, in a foul mood.

“Nothing," Gill said, tossing her glasses off onto the desk with a clatter. “There’s nothing, Janet.”

Janet looked on sympathetically as Gill pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled. “I’ve been staring at these notes for hours. There’s FUCKING FUCK ALL!” Gill cried, balling her tiny hand into a fist.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Gill composed herself, the steam rising off her mug away into the air. Janet knew better than to interrupt when Gill was in a sulk, and waited patiently for her to speak again.

Gill sighed again, relaxing her hand from the fist it was curled into. “Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just…we’re running out of time here, before they bring in the Review Team, and you know what the bloody hell that means—”

“Dave,” Janet answered, and Gill nodded, lips pursed. Her fist clenched at the mention of his name.

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Janet continued, trying to bring Gill out of the mood she was in, knowing she’d never get anything done all angry and worked up.

The look on Gill’s face said her attempt to calm her wasn’t working. Time to change tack.

“Speaking of The Bastard…his brother’s wife’s been in the news this morning. Did you see it?”

Gill looked up suddenly, frowning, leaning forwards in her chair. “Nicola, y’mean? Why? Backlash to her latest daft policy?”

She loved her sister-in-law, and had had some bloody good times with her over the years, but her venture into politics in the late 90s had come as quite a surprise. Nicola had seemed quite happy at Dentons, and had only just had Katie when she was nominated to stand, and she had never quite seemed confident enough to go into something as cutthroat as politics.

The difference between Gill and Nicola could be summed by their relationships to their (ex)husbands. Gill wasn’t a pleaser—she’d loved Dave, was besotted enough with him to be completely oblivious to the multiple affairs he’d had behind her back—and she would never change herself for him. She could still remember the look on Hazel and Eric’s faces when she had turned up in that sage green slip dress on that first weekend she met them.

But Nicola, even though she would never admit it to herself, never mind anyone else, _was_ a pleaser. She had a real need to be liked—so perhaps her venture into politics wasn’t such a surprise, after all—in a way that Gill didn’t. She could deal with making the difficult decision and being called a bitch because of it. Nicola simply couldn’t, she wanted everyone to be happy, and mainly, for James to be happy with her.

“No, not quite,” Janet said, with a delicacy that made Gill nervous. “Apparently the Bastard Murray gene is stronger than we thought.”

“Oh, he hasn’t,” Gill said, leaning back in her chair. “Oh, that fucking…”

“Bastard?” Janet finished for her. “I know. I thought you might’ve known something about it.”

“No, nothing, I mean, I’m not _surprised_ —this is Dave’s brother we’re talking about—it’s just, she never said anything. Although, I don’t remember when the last time I actually saw her was…” Gill said. “She’s meant to be coming up this weekend, actually, but I mean, she might not fancy it now.”

A knock at the door interrupted her thought process. They looked over and saw Rachel.

“Boss? Just thought you should know, um, Dave Murray’s on his way up…” Rachel bit her lip, avoiding eye contact with Gill, knowing the reaction it would garner from her.

“Fuck’s—” Gill exclaimed, her fist landing on the desk with a hard slam, surprising the other detectives. “Right,” she said, going for an air of calmness. “Let’s go and see what The Bastard has to say then, shall we?”

* * *

(15:31) Nicola, just heard about what he’s done. Really sorry. If you want to cancel this weekend we can rearrange. Gxx

(15:44) Would it be alright if I did come up this weekend, actually? Could really use the space. And would be good to see you. Xx

(19:38) Of course. Ella coming too?

(19:43) Might just be me. I plan on consuming copious amounts of wine cxx

(21:02) Noted. Wine purchased and glasses ready

* * *

Nicola had been strangely quiet all morning. Malcolm had rung when she was on her way in to say that he was sorry, that it was alright if she didn’t want to come in today, or even for the next couple of days, that they would manage. She snapped down the phone that nobody had died and that she would be coming in to work as usual. When she arrived at DoSAC that morning, she realised what he had been trying to protect her (or rather, the government) from.

Reporters were swarming outside the building, and the cameras started clicking as her car pulled up. She froze, not knowing what to do—if she didn’t get out the car, surely they would all just fuck off?—but then the door was opening and Ollie was taking her by the arm, leading her through the crowd of journalists and into the building.

As she entered the building, her team, including Malcolm, were stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting. None of them were saying anything, just stood there like the world’s shittest wedding party.

“What are you all doing stood here like that? It’s creepy,” Nicola said, frowning, pushing past Robyn and Terri and marching upstairs. “And why’d you send Ollie out there for like some sort of human fucking shield? At least send, I don’t know, Glenn—”

“Hey, what’s Glenn got that I haven’t? Apart from a working knowledge of the Roman Colosseum?” Ollie asked, mock-outraged.

“What on Earth are you talking about, Ollie? The Roman Colosseum?” Glenn asked, fighting to keep apace with Nicola’s long strides down the corridor.

“Yeah, you know it so well cause you were there when it was built. Get it? You’re old,” Ollie smirked. “You’re an old man, Glenn. Might as well give up the game now—”

“I have just about _had it_ with your pissing contest,” Nicola said, suddenly, stopping the group in their tracks. “Either have a conversation like fucking normal human beings, or, as I say to my five year-old, fingers on lips for the rest of this pleasant fucking journey to my office, alright?”

After that initial outburst, she remained alarmingly quiet for the rest of the day, sat in her office pretending she couldn’t hear the conversations of the others who thought they were being a lot quieter than they actually were.

“I mean, this is the first time he’s been caught in the press, but it’s not as if this is actually the first time he’s done it. Everyone knows he’s been dipping his nib in the office girl ink for years,” Robyn said, eyeing Nicola from across the office.

“Jesus—poor Nicola, I mean really, imagine finding out about your husband’s infidelity like this,” Glenn said, genuinely concerned. “Splashed all over the newspapers that he was caught not just with some secretary,” he continued, lowering his voice, “but with…a common prostitute?”

“Oh no,” Terri interjected, looking over the rim of her glasses. “Nothing common about her. She was one of those high-class escorts, you know, an agency girl. More _Secret Diary of a Call Girl_ than _Blow Your House Down_.”

Having heard enough, Nicola got up and slammed the door of her office, hoping they would get the hint and stop whispering about her while the door was wide open.

She sank into her chair, burying her face in her hands, willing herself not to cry. Not over him. She hadn’t shed a tear yet and she absolutely did not plan on doing so any time soon.

He had come home the night before, and Nicola knew something was up by the way he kept hovering around her. He was being too nice—the fact that he asked about her day should’ve told her all she needed to know, really—and helpful in a way he only ever was when he wanted something from her.

Then he finally came out with it as they got into bed, that he’d been caught having sex with some woman. If she wasn’t already angry enough, the kicker came when she asked who that woman he’d been fucking while his wife and children were at home was, exactly, and he murmured something that sounded like “escort”.

She had kicked him out that night, thrown his clothes out onto the drive and told him to go and stay with his mother just like the classic spurned woman trope dictated. He couldn’t stay with his mother, not really—she lived 200 miles away up north—and he protested that he’d have to go and stay in a hotel.

“Good,” she spat, “maybe you can book yourself another escort while you’re there,” and slammed the door.

Then it had dawned on her that he would have to tell his mother. And his sister. And his brother. And she would have to tell her mum, and her sister, and her friends, before they read it in some tabloid or heard it on the radio on their drive in to work the following morning.

His mum would probably be delighted, she reflected. She had had it out for Nicola since they had first met. She wasn’t posh enough, wasn’t pretty enough, wasn’t clever enough for her perfect son. It was something of a relief when Gill came along and Hazel had someone else to target with her snide comments and harsh criticisms. Gill—she had to remember to text her to cancel, this weekend wouldn't work, she had too much on.

Gill was the perfect person to take the heat off Nicola, she remembered. She was properly northern, with an accent to show for it, not fake northern like James and his siblings whose mum and dad were southern and had moved up to work at Lancaster University. She was feisty, too—people were usually fooled by her tiny stature and delicate features into thinking that she was some pretty little thing to be bulldozed over. Whatever weird, perceived mistake Nicola made was easily forgotten in the face of Gill who would call Eric out at the dinner table for a woefully misinformed comment about “bloody foreigners”.

It was really no surprise that James was so staunchly anti-Gill in the wake of the divorce. He always had been, over the years—she rocked the boat too much, she thought _far_ too highly of herself, she thought she was better than everyone else—but hadn’t previously been able to be open about his disdain.

When Nicola heard the news of the divorce, she had rung Gill to see if she was okay. She remembered how her heart had absolutely broken as Gill had sobbed down the phone.

“I’m an idiot, Nicola, a fucking fool,” she choked out between sobs, “he’s been fucking around on me for years. YEARS! Do you know how embarrassing that is? How utterly humiliated I feel?”

“You’re not an idiot, Gill,” Nicola said. “He’s the idiot. And he should be the one who’s embarrassed, not you. It’s not you everyone’s going to be whispering about, it’s him.”

“You say that but they _are_ whispering,” Gill cried, “they’re saying how could their fucking control freak anal boss who knows about everything that goes on in every _inch_ of her precinct not have known about her bastard husband who’s been sticking his cock in other women for 20 years? They’re saying, how could their fucking scary Godzilla bitch of a boss not have known?”

After they had got off the phone, she and James had had a massive row because she said she would go up and see Gill soon. James had protested, asking why she wanted to bother with her—“she’s not even family, we ought to be going to see Dave, if anything”—and Nicola had kicked off, in total disbelief at how callous he could be to completely disregard the pain his brother had put Gill through. She had driven up that weekend, leaving James with the kids in the hope that she wouldn’t return to find the house burned down to the ground.

Sammy was stopping with Gill’s mum, so they had the house to themselves. The evening started out civilised enough; eating prawn curry as Gill asked lots of questions about Nicola’s new role at DoSAC. But they finished the first bottle of wine easily enough and the evening descended into the chaos reminiscent of their times together in Nicola’s Camden flat. Gill cried lots, at one point a poorly judged tequila shot made Nicola dash to the toilet, and they both smoked lots of fags. There was much graceful dancing to their old favourites—Nicola was partial to ABBA but Gill had always been a bit edgier, preferring stuff like New Order—and at one point, Nicola managed to hit her head off the coffee table falling off the sofa.

It was at that point that they both decided they had better call it a night and head to bed. Gill’s house was lovely, and being up north, it was a lot bigger than Nicola’s rather expensive but small London home. There were five guest bedrooms, but they were so smashed up that they tumbled into the same bed, like they had done so often so many years before.

Nicola remembered being surprised at the rather gorgeous black lace nightie Gill slipped into: she was used to seeing her in some sort of oversized t-shirt, but she figured that that was around 15 years ago, now, and perhaps her tastes had changed (or perhaps years of surreptitiously lending her nighties had paid off). It skimmed her bony hips and nipped in her tiny waist, and Nicola couldn’t believe she still looked just how she had looked the first time they had collapsed into a bed together in the late 80s.

Wine always made Nicola a very sleepy drunk, especially so after the amount they had just consumed. As she collapsed into Gill’s bed, her eyes fluttered shut and she was asleep almost instantly. But she could have sworn, before she fell asleep, that she felt Gill reach out for her.

“Nicola? The Mail are running a story on James—don’t worry, sympathetic, rallying around you, of course—and were wondering if you wanted to comment. I assumed no, but—”

Nicola looked up, blinking wildly. It took her a few moments to register what Ollie had said.

“No. No comment,” she said, shaking her head. “Thanks, Ollie,” she added, as he nodded and walked away.

Nicola’s stomach sank as she once again remembered how incredibly public her humiliation really was. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to spend the weekend with someone who knew what she was going through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope everyone celebrating has had a lovely Xmas!! consider this update my gift to you all x


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